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Frosty The Snowman: Epitaph

December 02, 1952 A.D. –
I am born once again. I do not know the how or the why; I know only
that I live. I gaze about with wonder. I could not have
imagined the incredible changes which have swept across the face of
this world in the many centuries I have slept. Great stone towers belch
clouds of black smoke into the skies. Strange boxes of moving light and
glass speak and display images. Terrible mechanical beasts roam the
streets, roaring and howling. I am filled with awe and fear. What has become of this world I had known?

December 10 –
I have come into contact with a small band of children. They seem to
have taken a liking to me, and follow me everywhere.
I cannot say I mind their presence terribly, but I do wish they would
let me alone. They’ve taken to calling me “Frosty” which I do not
appreciate. Is it not enough that the gods have cursed me with this
ghastly malady? Must I constantly be reminded of my transmogrification
by a
group of sniveling rat-faced children as well? Fate is a cruel mistress.

One
of the boys found a filthy torn top hat and a rotting tobacco pipe
lying in the gutter and shouted “Hooray, let’s dress him up!” All of
the others began to laugh and cheer, dancing around me and singing some
insipid song. The boy came forward, jamming the pipe into my face and
smashed the hat down over my head. I could only stand there, doing
nothing and smiling my phony charcoal smile. I felt cheap and violated.
But there was nothing to be done. My twig arms would have
snapped had I even had the heart to resist.

December 15 – The sun eases out from behind a cloud. A line of cruel amber
rushes across the ground towards me, burning away precious lifegiving
shade. In these
desperate moments I think of nothing but my own fragile mortality. Each
day I become a little thinner. Each day my silken top hat sinks a
little lower on my head. Each day I awake in a puddle of frigid water.
I feel sluggish. Wasted.

I fear I am not long for this harsh new world.

December 17– In bed all day...No desire for anything.

I dream of roaring fires. Of bubbling hotsprings. Of warm summer days.

To Cook. To Boil. To Sear. To Burn. To Melt.

The Thaw.

God...

I've
got to pull myself together.

December 21 – The children have found me again. I was taking a walk through the
park. Until now I had been able to avoid them by venturing out only
when I knew they were in school. God, how I hate them. Oh, to wrap my
sticks around their little necks and squeeze. To wring the life from their precious tiny necks.

There would be no more
laughing. No more singing. There would be only the quiet of the wind upon the tund-

“We don’t have school today Frosty,” one of them chirps, “Let’s go play, Frosty!”

I shake my head.

“The
sun is especially hot today children,” I explain, “I fear the
temperature may rise above freezing. If this occurs, I would certainly
perish.”

They laugh. They stand staring through me with beady eyes, heads cocked like birds. I sigh and nod.

“Fine. You want to have some fun? Let’s have some bloody fun.” I say through gritted coals.

The children laugh and yell and I began to run.

And the sun beats down.

I
run. I run and yet I know it will make no difference. Escape is impossible. It
seems the children are always just a step behind me, nipping at my
heels like scrawny hounds. Soon I realize we are running along the
outskirts of the village. I turn, making for the town square. Huffing and moaning. The children squeal with delight.

And the sun beats down.

Very
soon now. With
each step I splash and slosh; my very essence spilling out across the
stone streets. Behind me the children laugh and sing. Troubled faces
peer
through clouded windowpanes.

And the sun beats down.

The
sun. The sun.

I slog on. Squealing of tires. Light growing dim. Won’t
be long now. Laughter flutters up. Muttered curses. Arms growing
numb. Sliding out and clatter to the ground. Facial features loosening. Gasping
for breath in terror. Nose coming free and the charcoal of the mouth and cuts short
a low moan. Eyes slide free. Droping down, down. Darkness. Legs giving
way and splashing out across warm sun-bleached pavement.

And now: Here
is where I take my leave. Strangely, as I lie here, blind and mute and
senseless in my formlessness, I find that I am quite calm.

An iceberg. A stream. A river.
An ocean. Vapor. And snow once again. Soon I shall be nothing. Soon I
shall be everything. Soon I shall be free of all this madness.

Frosty the SnowmanHad to hurry on his wayBut he waved goodbyeSaying don't you cry I'll be back again some day